A Good Coat And A Short Friend
by JohnLock-and-Ellie
Summary: Sherlock and John try to battle with their consciences as they explore their feelings for each other. Eventual JohnLock.
1. Chapter 1

A Good Coat And A Short Friend

This is my first fic so please review and let me know what you think.

A few months passed and preparations were being made for Christmas inside 221B Baker Street. Mrs Hudson rushed up the mistreated stairs with an overflowing box of decorations which John had inquired about earlier in the day. He had kept Sherlock in the dark so that he could surprise him when he got home.

Sherlock was currently in the middle of a case that had really taken his interest. Something to do with ex-Russian Mafia members terrorising secondary schools and banks - to be honest, John hadn't picked up all that much information because he zones out when Sherlock starts to ramble about his cases.

Even though John had put a number of hours and much care into Christmasifying the flat and getting himself in the winter spirit, he knew it was just another month to Sherlock and he wouldn't care for it much. This, however, did not stop John from treating himself to a large mug of tea when he was satisfied that there were decorations wherever you stepped.

Another hour passed and John found himself waking up to Sherlock blabbering on about nothing of importance, or in fact relevance, to the case and even his life in general.

As is usually expected of him, Sherlock's voice exploded with the overly common "Bored!"

"What do you want me to do about it? You've solved three cases in a week, one of which was a cold case as Lestrade didn't have any more for you. Please, calm down! The kettle's full so flick it on for me, would you?" John said as he returned to his once loved newspaper.

"It's too far away!" He said with a sense of longing.

John turned his head to see Sherlock's neck had gone floppy against the back of his armchair while staring into the kitchen at the kettle. As usual, John gave into his genius and built up enough momentum to drag himself to the counter.

When he returned, Sherlock was standing straight up and looked very sincere, mind you, he always looks that way.

"Let's go to Angelo's." Sherlock suggested with an unusual twinkle in his eye.

"But I've only just put the kettle on." John seemed to be nearly at the end of his tether.

"Well, it's four o'clock now, and you never eat before six, so I obviously don't mean now. I was thinking maybe around seven o'clock."

John raised an eyebrow and slowly turned to sit down again, analysing what Sherlock had just said.

"You never say 'maybe'. You are always sure about things and how you want them to happen, instead now you are asking for my input. You're hiding something, and I will find out what." John said as seriously as he could manage.

Almost immediately, Sherlock pulled a straight face which just made John giggle like a schoolgirl.

"Are you… laughing at me?" But unfortunately for Sherlock, this just made john giggle even more. "What are you laughing at? I've said nothing funny."

"You're digging yourself a hole. If I were you, I'd stop digging. Come and get your tea." John led a very confused Sherlock to the kitchen.

Before he knew it, John was sitting in the usual window seat of Angelo's, eating his favourite meal, and if he was honest, with his favourite person. He started to contemplate: could life get any better?

For a number of weeks now, John had felt different around Sherlock. They'd lived together for nearly six months and never had he experienced this. He felt a complete sense of relief whenever Sherlock finished a case or just came home each night.

"Sherlock, if you don't start to eat your meal within the next two minutes, I'll force feed it to you!" John looked at Sherlock, raising both eyebrows trying to be intimidating, but it didn't work as Sherlock could never be intimidated by anyone.

This carried on in the usual fashion for the next half an hour before John gave in and gestured for the bill. Suddenly, John's eyes filled with inspiration.

"Why did you want to come here tonight?" John's eyes closed slightly as he stared at Sherlock in anticipation.

Sherlock looked up at John and straight into his eyes. "I suppose… well… it's just…"

John restrained himself from letting out a slight giggle. "I never thought I'd see the day that Sherlock Holmes would be speechless."

Sherlock's cheeks shone bright red. It was as though he'd never blushed in his life and now was making up for it. He took a deep breath and looked to John's chest in an effort to avoid eye contact for fear of embarrassment. He started to open his mouth to speak when his phone vibrated and called out with a text.

**London Philharmonic Orchestra due to perform at the Albert hall tomorrow, all found dead.**

**Lestrade**

John's featured filled with disappointment as he looked out of the window. He knew Sherlock would choose the case over an awkward conversation with him.

"It's an interesting one and probably a lot of money in it. I'm sorry, and I know I only just finished a case this morning, but this might give me a week off after." He gathered his scarf, coat and gloves and headed for the door. He grabbed the handle but looked back at John who was finishing his coffee and with a sense of regret, he disappeared into the dark streets of London.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Sherlock**

**I appreciate you taking the time to read my work, but I would love some reviews to know what you think!**

After a few days, Sherlock had finished the case but things between him and John were still icy. As per, John was in his seat writing up the case. He called it "London Philhar-maniac".

John could hear that Sherlock had entered the building, but he couldn't hear him coming up the stairs, so he must have been with Mrs Hudson, the landlady. She's a lovely, old lady who insists that she's not their housekeeper, yet still acts like it.

Sherlock sloped through the door and aimed for his chair. He turned on the tele only to turn it off again. John assumed this was because he had an ounce of hope that there might be something of interest on, but like always, nothing.

Sherlock flicked his head round to inspect John. He jumped up and went to stand behind him and leant his head down.

He mumbled through the first paragraph when John closed the laptop.

"I was reading that!" Sherlock protested.

"It will be finished soon, and you've got your own laptop, read it on that." He responded, slightly agitated.

"John, we need to talk. We can't continue like this. Things just don't work when we aren't happy around each other." He looked at John with as close to puppy dog eyes as he could manage.

"I know. I just don't agree with how you get summoned at all hours of the night. But I do understand that your work means a lot to you and that you thrive off it. I'm getting used to it. I'm sorry for being cold towards you, Sherlock." He gazed at the genius with glassy eyes.

"Well, that was easier than I expected it to be. It's alright, John. I understand what you mean though. I'm always walking out on you or forcing you out into the cold nights and it's not an easy life, but it keeps me busy. I am just grateful that you didn't move out within the first week!" He looked back at John and a smile lifted on his face.

"You never told me what going to Angelo's was in aid of."

Sherlock's face went blank as he thought back to his conversation with Mrs Hudson just 5 minutes before.

"I don't know what to do Mrs Hudson. I've got myself into corner and now I'm stuck." He looked at her in hope that she would give him an easy way out.

"Sherlock, there's only one thing you can do, and you know what it is. It may not be what you want to hear…" he cut her off.

"No, it's not."

"But it's the right thing to do, and John's not cruel, he won't make you feel bad about it. Having strong feelings for someone you spend all your time with is perfectly natural. He'll understand. You never know, he might feel the same." She looked back at him with a beaming smile.

"Why are you so happy? This is a difficult time for me."

"It's so wonderful to see that you can have feelings for someone. For a long time, I thought that you'd never meet anyone that would change you." Her smile still radiating around the room.

"Change me? What do you mean change me? I'm the same person!" Sherlock insisted.

"Sherlock, you are anything but the person you were six months ago. Before you met John, you wouldn't even consider having a normal conversation with someone. You would shut everyone out. You barely ate enough to keep your body functioning, and the way you go about your cases has changed. You aren't ruthless to the point of driving people to tears. Everyone has noticed how you've changed. I often have your police friend come and ask me if anything has changed with you. Asking me what's going on with you and John. He says that you can't keep your eyes of him when he's examining bodies. He's explained that John won't let you go for five minutes without expressing how amazing your deductions are. Talk to him. Tell him how you feel. The worst that can happen is that you'll forget about the conversation and go back to normal life." She gave Sherlock a smaller smile and gestured for him to go back to his own flat.

Unfortunately for Sherlock, Mrs Hudson just didn't understand how strongly Sherlock felt for John. He wouldn't be able to cope with going back to normal life. Not without getting a similar level of affection from John.

"Sherlock? Are you still with me? Sherlock?!" John clicked in front of his face. "You haven't gone to your mind palace have you?"

"Sorry, I was reminiscing. What was the question?" He shook his head as if to dismiss the thoughts of his earlier conversation.

"Why did we go to Angelo's?" John looked at Sherlock with bated breath.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you that… that… I wanted to say that… no. Let me start again." John looked puzzled. "The reason that we went to Angelo's was because…" John's body filled with expectation. "It was exactly six months since we moved in together last week."

John's body deflated with disappointment. "I suppose it was. Funny how time flies."

"Yeah." Sherlock turned his attention to his phone. The silence didn't last long though.

"No, it wasn't!" John looked even more puzzled than he did two minutes ago.

"Wasn't it?" Sherlock's mind started racing trying to figure out where his maths had gone wrong.

"No, it's next month. We moved in on July 18th. That makes 5 months. Okay, now I know that something is going on. No matter what you say, you are acting strange. Either you know something I don't, or… I don't even know what but something's going on. I'm off to bed. See you tomorrow. Night, Sherlock."

"Night, John." He didn't look at John in case he caved and explained all.

John turned to the door and slumped off to bed.

Sherlock started pacing around and telling himself off. "Why did you do that, you stupid, idiotic man? You had the perfect opportunity to tell him everything but you backed out like a small child." He burst out with a huge sigh.

Sherlock, in his frustration, had not left it long enough before he started to talk to himself to let John get to his room and close the door. He pressed his head against the living room door and listened in on Sherlock. He knew it wasn't the right thing to do, but he was confused and wanted to know what was going on with his best friend.

"Like Mrs Hudson said…" Sherlock continued, unaware of John's close presence. "Having feelings for someone is natural, even if they are the same sex as you. It's not frowned upon anymore, although some people do have an opposing view. John is an understanding man. He won't make me feel stupid for it."

John had heard enough. He shuffled back to his room, making sure he didn't make too much noise so that Sherlock didn't hear him. Sherlock's rambling faded as he made his way up the stairs. He shut the door to his bedroom and lay on his bed.

He started to look sorry for himself as he spoke aloud. "He's got feelings for someone. I knew something was going on, but I didn't expect this."

Sherlock finished shouting at himself and made his way to his own bed. As he approached his room, he could hear john talking and immediately started to listen in.

"I could have fallen for anyone, but me being me, I had to go for the complicated choice. Someone at the clinic would have been what I had expected…" At the word "clinic" Sherlock zoned out. He felt as though his heart had plummeted to his feet. He dropped his head and went to his room. "But me? Oh, no! Life's not going to be fair on me, why should it?! I had to go and fall in love with Sherlock Holmes! But he loves someone else."

Sherlock, once again, started rambling to himself. "If only I hadn't have been a coward. If I had just said it then I wouldn't be in this mess. I had to go and fall in love with John Watson! But he loves someone else."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Sherlock.**

**Thanks for the reviews, keep them coming! Let me know of anything you want me to include.**

John woke up the next morning feeling rough as he had spent half the night tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep, completely unaware that the same thing was happening to Sherlock.

He rolled onto his side to look at his alarm clock. It was 7.18 so he had two minutes before he needed to get up for work.

Meanwhile, in Sherlock's room, a man who resembled a hunch-back was leaning over the desk looking, wide-eyed, at numerous experiments.

"As usual, my hypothesis was correct. What a surprise." He said with as much humour as he could muster. He knew it was going to be a hard day so he needed to stay optimistic, but this is Sherlock Holmes - he shows no emotion.

He spun round on his chair to look around the large but empty room. The only things that graced the space were a bed, a bedside table, his desk and a wardrobe. No pictures hanging on the walls, no mirror, no ornaments, no nothing. It was plain and that's how he liked it. Nothing to form attachments to. Life's easier when you can just walk away and know you've not left anything of importance behind, isn't it?

Sherlock jumped as his phone vibrated on the cluttered desk. A text from Lestrade requesting help on a case no doubt.

**Eight estranged fathers hanged from Tower Bridge.**

**Don't tell me this isn't interesting!**

**Lestrade**

He flew from his chair to his bedroom door and flung it open.

"John! John, I've got a case at Tower Bridge. Doesn't seem too difficult but you know what Lestrade's like. He doesn't notice the obvious. I shouldn't be out for too long. John? John, can you hear me?" He turned on the spot at the bottom of the stairs and ran back up the stairs. As he neared John's room, he slowed down and knocked on the door gently.

"John, are you there? Can I come in?" He turned the handle slowly and nudged the door open. Sherlock was alarmed to see John leaning against the far wall facing the door with his legs straight out and head tilted upwards looking at the ceiling. His eyes were bright red and by the looks of it, they had been for a while.

"John? This isn't… normal!" As soon as he stopped talking, Sherlock could hear that John was speaking but incoherently. He walked over to the weary man and crouched beside him.

"Man down… needs help… can't reach… blood… so much… blood…" John's eyes flickered and his whole body started to shake.

"John, you're in London, not Afghanistan. 221B Baker Street. I'm Sherlock and this is our home." John had never had an attack of his Post Traumatic Stress Disorder while he'd been living with Sherlock so he wasn't sure what to do.

He grabbed both of John's shoulders and made an attempt to keep him still. Sherlock could see it wasn't working so he knelt right in front of John pulled him into a hug. His right arm went around his back to support his body and his right hand behind his head to tuck it into his shoulder. He then whispered into his ear.

"John. It's me, Sherlock. You're safe. You'll always be safe with me. I'll look after you and I'll care for you. If you don't come out of this, I don't know what I'll do. I'll be lost without you." Just as Sherlock was about to pour his heart out, John started to come around.

"Sher…" He breathed very heavily and fell into Sherlock's body. "Sherlock?"

"I'm here. I'm glad you're okay. That scared me. I didn't know what to do."

"The great Sherlock Holmes was… scared? I wish I had been conscious enough to witness that! Thank you. If you didn't find me, I don't know what would have happened." John leant back against the wall, resuming his position of staring back at the ceiling. "Sorry, I stole all of the attention, were you going to say something a minute ago?"

"Well, now that you mention, I was going to say that. It's just…" A lump formed in his throat and at that point he knew that now would not be the time John found out about Sherlock's feelings. "Lestrade just text me. I was going to go on a case, but considering the circumstances, I think he can cope for a few hours without me."

"Are you sure that was all?" John looked at him with big, blue eyes, glassy from the crying he'd obviously been doing.

"Yes. But I think you've got something to share. You've been crying for hours and have barely slept. You didn't even get under the covers. You always try to get some sleep, even if your efforts are fruitless. What's caused you to get so distressed?"

John's eyes suddenly got even wider. He'd been caught out. "It can keep, and I can look after myself. You go and save Lestrade and I'll clean myself up. No excuses and no buts. I need to call the clinic and let them know I won't be in. I'll see you later."

"Only if you're sure!" John was half way through standing up when he stared at Sherlock blankly. "I'm going. See you later." Sherlock turned and left John in his room. He made his way over to his bed and stood with his back to it. He was so tired that he could easily fall backwards and be asleep before his head hit the pillow.

All of a sudden, Sherlock burst back through the door, embraced John in his arms and pulled him into a kiss. It was long but not awkward. Before he knew it, John was lying on his bed with Sherlock over him, not parting from the kiss.

"What about… the case? Won't... Lestrade… need you?" John said between kisses, slightly out of breath and bemused.

"Oh, that can wait." Sherlock said dismissively.

He could feel Sherlock pulling his jumper up his body so he was forced to stop the kiss but they joined again as John helped pull his jumper off his head. He reached his arms around Sherlock's waist inside his coat held on tightly, pulling them closer together. John released a pleasure-filled moan as Sherlock's lips adventured down his neck.

"John?" The voice was distant with an echo. "John? You're not having another attack are you?" It was very recognisably Sherlock's voice. He shook his head and looked up at the door. Sherlock was leaning on the doorframe looking down at John.

"I don't like to think of you here on your own. You're not okay. I'm staying. I'll be in the living room."

John looked up at him with wide eyes. A wave of disappointment flushed through him. "Don't worry about me! Go! I've dealt with this on my own before, I can do it again. Just go on your case. I'm just going to have a sleep or something. I'll be fine when you get back."

Sherlock lingered, staring at John. The corner of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile. "I suppose I'll see you later then."

John's mouth mirrored Sherlock's as he looked to the floor. "See you later."

He shuffled up his bed and got under the covers, watching Sherlock as he turned to leave. After his revelation the previous night, he couldn't restrain himself from staring at Sherlock's bum as he left. He turned to face the ceiling with a cheeky grin on his face, pleased of his accomplishment going unnoticed.

A couple of hours later, Sherlock was conversing with Lestrade back at the station.

"So, has anything happened between you two yet or are you going to keep us in suspense" Lestrade looked at Sherlock in anticipation.

Sherlock's head immediately flicked towards the policeman. "Happened? Like what?"

"You know. Are you together yet? Everyone knows that you like each other. We all see the way you look at him. And how he looks at you. This is just between you and me."

"When John looks at me, all he sees is Sherlock Holmes, the man who can deuce anything from everything. We're flatmates and that's all he wants."

"And you? What do you want?" Lestrade looked at him how John had earlier that day. Sherlock's mind filled with pictures of John and thoughts of what he wanted to do with him.

"That's none of your business. I'm married to my work and that's the end of it. My affection goes no further." Sherlock looked back down to the table and carried on filling in his forms. Being Sherlock, he couldn't get away with treating everyone with some civility at a crime scene; so naturally, he pushed someone over the edge of Tower Bridge. Namely, Anderson. "If you don't mind I have work to do."

"I want that incident report done before you leave. No excuses." Lestrade looked at Sherlock like a parent giving their child restrictions.

"I have nowhere to be right now, so I don't know why you're looking at me like that!"

"You won't be here for much longer." He looked over Sherlock's head to what Sherlock thought would just be the door, but as he, too, turned his head, he saw John walking towards him.

Sherlock stood up and watched John walk towards him. He observed his legs, his arms, his chest and his neck. He started taking baby steps towards John who was swiftly making his way towards him with a look of anticipation in his eyes. As they got closer, he then observed his neck and hair A few more steps, his bright blue eyes catching the fluorescent white lights.

They stopped, standing slightly closer than normal, but not invading each other's space.

"I thought you might need some help. That, or restraining, but it looks like I'm too late. Are you done yet?"

"Not quite, I have an incident report to fill in." Sherlock gestured towards the table, John's eyes following his hand.

"Can it wait?" John asked.

"Well, Lestrade said I can't leave until it's done."

"It can wait! Come with me." John pushed an arm towards the door, pointing for Sherlock to lead and he soon followed.

Lestrade observed as the two men left together with a grin on his face. The sort of grin that says "I told you so!". He sat down in front of the papers and filled them out, letting Sherlock off the hook. Again.

Finally, they reached 221B Baker Street and were stood in the living room.

"Sherlock, I've been meaning to talk to you for days now and every time I try, something gets in the way. Whether it's Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft or Harry. There's always someone. Then I start making excuses as to why I shouldn't talk to you. It's dragged out for too long." John had a serious look on his face, as did Sherlock.

"I know what you're going to say, John." Sherlock looked just over his head. "I heard you last night, talking to yourself." John had a look of surprise smashed all over his face.

"I heard you talking to yourself, too. So…I know how you feel."

"You do? I'm pleased." Sherlock smiled with content while John looked completely bewildered.

"Well, I'm understanding, like you said last night. If you want to have relationship with a guy, I have no problem with that. Like I said when we first went to Angelo's, any relationship is fine by me."

"In that case…" Sherlock started to move slowly towards john, but was interrupted by the door to the living room being flung open.

Mycroft was leaning against the frame as Sherlock had earlier that day. John's mind started to wonder until Mycroft said "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything. Shirley, I have a case for you, and this one, you can't refuse."

**Please Review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Sherlock.**

**Reviews are greatly appreciated so I know what you guys want.**

"As it happens, Mycroft, yes, you have interrupted something. I don't care what the case entails, I'm busy, it can wait. Bye!" Sherlock turned his attention back to John but was, once again, interrupted.

"I suppose Dr Watson also won't care about a case involving his whole platoon being taken from their homes, one by one, and being held hostage."

"What? The whole platoon?" John had a complete sense of worry rush through his head. Mycroft smirked as he knew he had won.

"And Dr Watson is next…" Mycroft turned and walked away while John plummeted to his seat.

"Can you tell me anything or can't you read your brother?" john looked at Sherlock in hope.

Sherlock looked to John and didn't break eye contact. "Mycroft's already been working on the case. He already uses a cane or umbrella, but now he's using it for support. He's got bags under his eyes so he's been working later than usual. He's been awake for hours. He normally walks slowly but today, even slower…" John cut him off.

"I meant about the case." Sherlock's cheeks started to go pink, but he cleared his throat and continued.

"In that case, I'm not sure. He must have known you would ask me that so he cleared anything that would give me a clue so that you would follow, therefore I follow." Sherlock looked annoyed and sighed.

"What do you mean "Therefore I follow"?" John, once again, looked confused.

"Well, wherever you go, I want to go. I enjoy your company." Sherlock looked to the floor.

"Are you sure you're not confusing enjoying my company and not hating my company?" john looked blank. Sherlock couldn't read him, and this, he didn't like. Not one bit!

Suddenly a voice came through a loud speaker. "If you two don't get down here now, we'll just do another drugs bust to get you out!" Lestrade. Who else?

The two men stood staring at each other, taking in everything that they were. "if we don't go, they really are just going to come up, aren't they?"

"Yeah, they always do." Sherlock said casually.

"I'm not sure whether I should be worried that this has happened on a number of occasions before or not! I suppose it's just something else I'll have to get used to about you. So, shall we?"

"We shall! Maybe possibly, some day we will be able to have a serious conversation without being interrupted."

The man giggled together and ran off on the new case.

"John." Lestrade's voice carried over all of the noise from other policemen and traffic. "We need to get you to a safe house."

"I'm staying with him." Sherlock looked around and stopped on John. He looked back at him confused.

"Why? I mean, I'm grateful, but I'll be safe, hence the "safe house" and surely you'll be most useful making deductions from the frontline?!" John reasoned.

"I believe you would be safer if I were with you. That way, I know where you are at all times and can keep you safe myself." Sherlock leaned closed and whispered. "Maybe we can finally talk in private." He smirked and looked at Lestrade. Of course, he knew that meant Sherlock would be staying with John.

After a long journey, they finally made it to a safe house. It was a large, detached house in the middle of a residential area. This meant other police officers could observe from on looking houses.

Lestrade took the men in and quickly realised that they wanted him gone and wanted to talk. "Just don't damage anything. These places aren't cheap and it's in the middle of a residential area. Other people live here!"

"Yes. Goodbye, Lestrade." Sherlock quickly ushered the Detective Inspector out and returned to John.

"Finally, we can talk!" John suddenly looked slightly nervous.

"I seem to remember that the last thing you said was that "Any relationship is fine." And I agree. If you want to be with someone from the clinic, you should go for it. I'm sure they're lovely people and…" John cut him off.

"For a genius, you're not that smart! Sherlock, I don't want anyone from the clinic."

"You don't? but I overheard you talking last night. You said about expecting it to be someone from the clinic so I assumed…"

"Well, you assumed wrongly. I was saying that I thought it would have been one of them but it isn't. The person that I've fallen in love with is a lot closer to home than my colleagues. But, if you want to have a relationship with a guy that you've met on a case, hopefully not a dead one, then that's fine. No? Humour not that best thing at the moment? Didn't think so. Anyway, as I was saying. If you want a relationship with a man, that's fine. I won't judge you. I'll let you get on with it."

"I suppose the man that I've fallen in love with is a little closer to home than those in the police." John looked up at Sherlock with his big blue eyes. The corner of his mouth turned up and his eyes shone. Sherlock kept looking at John's lips, then to his eyes and back to his lips again.

"In that case, I guess I'll just…"

Both men nearly ran towards each other and wrapped their arms around their waists. Their lips locked and pretty quickly they were sharing each other's tongues. John's arms moved closer to Sherlock's neck as Sherlock pulled John's waist in closer to his. John had to go onto the tips of his toes to reach Sherlock's lips.

"I can't… tell you… how long… I've been waiting… for this." John said between kiss.

Sherlock stripped John's coat and shirt off his back. John had kept up the tone of his muscles while he had been back in England. "I always wondered how long it would before I could see you shirtless for a reason other than that you'd just come out of the shower. Now, I can stop wondering." Sherlock's lips explored John's neck and the army doctor let out a slight moan.

"Maybe we should take this somewhere slightly more…"

"Horizontal?"

"Anywhere is better than the middle of a lunge where thirty police officers can watch!" They suddenly backed away from each other and cleared their throats. "Shall we just…" John pointed towards the stairs and was soon running up them after Sherlock. He kicked the door closed while Sherlock shut the curtains, blocking out anybody who might be watching. He turned towards the bed, scanning the room for any cameras.

"Is it clean?"

"I think so. It's a new house so I don't think they've done much to it yet. I do believe we were in the middle of something?"

"My apologies, back to work." The men collapsed on the bed and looked into each other's eyes as they stripped the other's clothes off to the point that there was nothing else to strip.

"John?" Sherlock pulled his head away slightly.

"Yeah?"

"I don't think the room's clean!"

"A little bit of dust here and there doesn't bother you, surely?"

"Unfortunately, that's not what I meant."

John picked his head up to see Mycroft sitting in the corner of the room with his arms and legs crossed.

"Well, I was hoping for something a little less… just less, to be honest. You do realise you have case, don't you?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Sherlock.**

**I'm sorry it's taken a week for this download. The more reviews I get, the more likely I am to be quick at updating. Keep them coming! Enjoy.**

"Mycroft? What the hell? I thought you were at the station!" John yelled as menacingly as possible.

"And your point is?" Mycroft asked, completely unaware.

"Why are you… here?" John said, exasperated.

"Charming! I was going to try and spend some time with you both where I knew you couldn't just run away. Trust me, if I knew this would happen I would be at the station. Or in counselling! Don't get me wrong, I don't mind you two doing… this. I would just prefer it if you didn't do it in my presence." Mycroft sighed, nearly with disappointment.

"No offense intended, Mycroft, but we weren't exactly bothered about looking to see if you were around."

"No offense intended but would you two mind awfully if you… dismantled yourselves? You know what, carry on as you were, I'm off. I'd rather not deal with you when you're in this state." Mycroft unfolded his legs and hauled himself to standing. He grabbed his umbrella and shut the door behind himself.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'm not really in the right mood anymore. Like Mycroft, I think I'll need counselling after that encounter!"

Sherlock looked to John. "Don't worry about it. It seems to me as though this was just an act of lust on both of our parts, so maybe we should forget this ever happened. I'm going to the police station to help Lestrade with the case. I might see you tomorrow." Sherlock stepped off the bed and piled on his clothes, finishing with his beloved scarf.

John tucked his knees up to his chin and embraced them, looking rather embarrassed. Sherlock, with his hands in his pockets and head down, walked swiftly towards the door, and before John could make a noise, he was gone… again. John sighed deeply and collapsed into the pillows, putting his hands to his face to wipe away his frustration.

The door had slammed behind Sherlock as he left. As soon as he heard the confirming click of the handle, he leaned back on the frame and exhaled deeply, leaving himself feeling empty. He picked himself up and marched off to the station to meet Lestrade.

John rolled onto his side and stared at the wall. Tears fell from his eyes and hit the pillow. He hoped for Sherlock to come back through the door and apologise for running off, but ten minutes passed and there was no sign of him. John's eyes drooped and, quickly, he fell asleep.

Sherlock hurried down the stairs, wiping sweat off his forehead as he went. He ran through the front door, regret hitting him right in the face. He looked out onto the street and his eyes drifted to the floor just in front of him. The tall man collapsed to his knees and dropped his head. He hit the concrete ground with the side of his clenched fist as hard as he could while trying to hold back his tears, but it was too late. Unexpectedly, he let out a cry of frustration and sorrow. How bad was this mistake that he had made?

Sherlock stopped pounding the floor and put his forehead there instead. He breathed in deeply and held it before breathing out loudly, a huge sigh going with it. He started to feel conspicuous so he gradually hauled himself to standing, shook his head in hope that it would shake away all embarrassment and straightened his neck. Sherlock strode off with his long legs and looked for the nearest unmarked police car.

"To the station! And keep quiet, I need to think." He looked forward to see the policeman in the driver's seat turn his head. Who else could it have been? "You must be joking! It could have been anyone from the whole of London police and I get Anderson!"

"Nice to see you, too." Anderson turned back to looking at the road. He started the engine and drove off.

"Just keep it down. Some of us want this case sorted." Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"Well, someone hasn't had any recently!"

"Oh, shut up, Anderson." Sherlock glared at him through half shut eyes.

"So, I'm right!" He smirked.

"Well, you would know." He felt quite smug. Mind you, he is intellectually superior.

"There's something deeper though." Anderson lifter his head as if to look down his nose deductively.

"I thought I was the only consulting detective in this car!" Sherlock looked quite shown up.

"It's not difficult to tell. Anyone who has friends will tell you the same. What's wrong?"

"I could have sworn I was speaking out loud when I said I wanted to think, not talk!" He raised his eyebrows and looked at Anderson accusingly.

"The sooner you tell me, the sooner I'll shut up." Anderson looked back at Sherlock, trying to be condescending, but unfortunately, he chose the wrong person to try that with.

"You say that now, but your tiny brain will increase the compulsion to ask me more questions." Sherlock looked out of the window with a crooked smile that says "I've won." But before he had chance to bask in the glory, Anderson retaliated.

"I can keep a secret if that's what you're worried about."

"Well, that's not true. It was blindingly obvious that you were sleeping with Sergeant Donovan and you keeping it a secret is not what I'm worried about."

"So…" Anderson sighed. "What's the problem?" He was hanging on Sherlock's every word.

"It's you. I've never told you anything of a personal nature before and I've been just fine so…"

Anderson cut him off. "That's debatable!"

"I've been fine before, so why should I start now?"

"Well, you're a sociopath, so some help from the outside world must be some use, maybe?"

"Why do you even care? I pushed you in the Thames for a reason. I was sure I'd made my feelings about you plainly obvious."

The car pulled to a stop outside the police station and both men stepped out. They walked side by side, still conversing.

"Oh yes, I never got the chance to thank you for that swim. Mind you, that doesn't matter because I wouldn't have thanked you anyway."

"I'm serious when I ask, why should I tell you? I'm fine." Sherlock stopped, Anderson stopping soon after and looking back at the taller man.

"We both know that's not true, now. There's something in you that's trying to get out, and I just can't figure out what it is." He looked at Sherlock through narrow eyes, trying to deduct the only consulting detective in the world. "Could it be that the world's most well-known sociopath really does have feelings?"

"If he did, he wouldn't tell you!" Sherlock brushed passed Anderson heading towards the station when he felt an arm grab onto his elbow, pulling him back around. They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment. Both men found their breathing get slower and deeper, and before Sherlock knew it, he was pushing Anderson up against the wall outside the building and into a kiss. Their faces pressed together, both of their eyes closed. Sherlock pulled the policeman round the building to an alley between the station and the neighbouring offices.

Anderson fought to keep conscious through lack of breath and tried to be the dominating party, but soon gave up as that wasn't going to happen. "Would you… tell me…. what's wrong… now?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Sherlock**

**I'm sorry it's taken me a few days to get this up. I won't have the next chapter up til late next week so I'll make it longer to compensate. **

**Reviews are greatly appreciated as they let me know that I'm on the right lines. Enjoy.**

Sherlock drifted in and out of daydreams while in the alleyway with Anderson, and before he knew it, five minutes had passed and the deed was done. He couldn't look into Anderson's eyes. He couldn't look at him at all. He didn't want to be near him.

"I've got a case to solve, so if you don't mind, I'll leave."

"I understand."

"No, you don't. You don't know what I'm thinking, so how could you possibly know? You just don't want me to blame you for what has happened." Sherlock stared into the dead centre of Anderson's eyes.

"What do you mean "Blame"? If you didn't want to do this, then you could easily have walked away. This was your choice! If anyone is to blame, it's you for going along with it."

Sherlock ignored what Anderson had said and turned quickly, his coat lifting from the air underneath it, and flew round the corner and into the station.

As Sherlock exited the lift, he could feel numerous sets of eyes fall on him, watching his every move. Before he could turn around and catch them out he heard "Sherlock and Anderson sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G" Someone must have seen them as they entered the alley.

He felt his cheeks threaten to go red, but the tall, fleeting man cleared his throat and calmed his thoughts. The pinkish tint died down and so did the mockeries.

Sherlock spent hours in Lestrade's office working on the case, avoiding other officers in case they started teasing him again and avoiding going back to John. Little did Sherlock know of the continuing teasing that was occurring throughout the building.

Lestrade entered the office with great presence and asked inquisitively "Would you care to tell me why all of my officers are occupying their time by making fun of you and Anderson with that stupid rhyme?" He looked at Sherlock with raised eyebrows, expecting an answer.

Sherlock looked back at him trying to avoid a confession, but he could tell that Lestrade knew what had happened. As he opened his mouth to talk, the DI took his place.

"What were you thinking?" His tone was softer than Sherlock had expected. Not condescending just disappointed. "Absolutely everyone here knows how you feel about John. Funnily enough, so does Anderson, but it would seem you're oblivious. Do you want to anything to happen with him, or is it just an overwhelming sense of lust?"

Sherlock swallowed a lump from his throat. "Sorry. I didn't mean to cause so much disruption."

"I am by no means the person you should be apologising to. John has undoubtedly noticed how you are around him. Everyone else has, and he's not stupid. You've made a mistake, and so does everyone else."

"Are you trying to give me advice because I…"

"I know. You want to finish the case. Just remember this: No good comes from suppressing feelings. Opportunities will not stay open forever." Sherlock got to his feet and left the office before Lestrade had a chance to say anything else to him. Lestrade's eyes were fixed on the tall figure as he waltzed away. He spun his head back around and observed the goings on of the outside world, but was soon disturbed by the same low voice of a few moments ago.

"What are _you_ hiding? You now know that something's going on with me and I didn't want anyone to know, so you tell me what's wrong with you."

"Are you making a trade off with emotions?"

"Not so much a trade off as a negotiation." Sherlock raised his eyebrows and looked through his lower eyelashes at Lestrade.

"I left my wife two days ago and have been living in a hotel since. But of course, you already knew that." Sherlock was taken aback at the police officer's bluntness.

"No, I didn't. That's the first I knew."

"Don't play games with me, Sherlock. I've known you for years, of course you knew."

"Okay, so I knew. What difference does it make? You still told me, even though you knew you didn't need to. No one tells me anything, so in return, I don't tell anyone anything."

Lestrade spoke again, nearly whispering, trying to appeal to Sherlock's compassionate side. "What's going on in that mind of yours? I won't tell anyone, I won't judge you and I won't laugh."

Sherlock looked up at his eyes and slowly, his face altered to a frown. He pushed himself off the door forcefully and flung it open so that it caused a crack to form in the glass on the door. The tall man leaned his head forward so it was level with Lestrade's and so that they were staring into each other eyes, only centimetres away from each other . "Just keep out of my business. It's nothing to do with you and I'd appreciate it if you'd leave… me… alone!"

He turned towards the door and marched off, pulling the door with him. The impact of the door in the frame caused the cracked window to smash to the floor. Lestrade was left looking at the shattered glass. He slumped into the swivel chair behind his desk and relieved his brain of the tension he'd just put it through.

Sally Donovan stood appeared behind the door and looked through the gap where the glass of the window should have been; looking puzzled, but shook her head dismissively and pushed her way through the door, being careful not to step on the glass.

"Donovan! What do you want?"

"Freak's heading off to the homes of the hostages. You and I both know he can't, and shouldn't, be alone in any place that's part of an investigation."

"Okay, I'll follow in the marked car."

"I'll get it ready for you." She turned her head and carefully made her way out of the office.

Lestrade's head flopped back and he stared aimlessly at the ceiling, wishing he could just go back to bed and stay there for the rest of his life. "I swear I will take my hat off to anybody who can get through to that man!"


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm so sorry this took so long but I've had loads of work to do towards my GCSEs which caught me out slightly.**

**I have the next chapter planned out in my head already and that's the bit that takes longest so hopefully it will be up soon.**

**I'd really appreciate some reviews, guys. Just so I know that I'm heading in the right direction. If you have any ideas for me, they're really welcome!**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Sherlock.

John awoke to the continuous buzzing of the doorbell. He couldn't help wonder if he had been told whether or not to answer, or whether there was a secret ring, or anything.

"Don't be stupid, John. There are multiple police officers surrounding the house and down the street. Anybody that hasn't got permission to be here wouldn't be allowed within spitting distance of you." The doctor continued to battle with his instincts as he approached the door.

His hand graced the handle and waited for a moment before gently persuading the door towards his chest and poking his head through the narrow gap.

"Oh, you hung around then." John sighed with a slight sense of relief, but also frustration. Mycroft elegantly shimmied his way past the smaller man. "Come on in why don't you." John pushed the door closed reluctantly. "What have I done to deserve the pleasure of seeing you again so soon, Mycroft?" John, however, did not look too impressed.

"I'm here to discuss my brother. Now, for a long time I have suspected you to be an item, and I am glad someone has finally managed to get him to act… like a human being, but…" John cut him off.

"Sherlock and I… we're not… we're not a cou… we're not… together. What you witnessed earlier was a… mistake… on both of our parts." John hung his head but not conspicuously enough for Mycroft to notice.

"Nevertheless, no one, as far as I am concerned, which is quite a way I'll have you know, has ever even got that far with him. I don't mean to pry or intrude on your… feelings or… intentions, but remember that it is not in his nature and I would hate for his concentration to be… compromised." John was taken aback by this comment, especially as he thought he saw Mycroft wink out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn't be sure. Did he mean Sherlock's concentration on the cases or on John?

The smaller man stood straight, trying to level out the height difference of the two. John stared just over Mycroft's shoulder into mid-space for a moment before realising what he was doing and snapped himself back into reality, but even that snippet of time gave him a chance to think. "I understand."

Mycroft frowned. "You do? That's remarkable because I hadn't even finished with what I was saying, In fact I hadn't finished making my point…" John grabbed his coat off the hook just behind him and shoved past the taller, and larger, man. Mycroft stumbled back marginally as he did so. "Oh, okay… where are you going?"

John must have not heard what the elder man had said as he jogged away from the house. He ran towards the car parked a few houses down and jumped in. "Take me to the station."

The policeman in the driver's seat turned his head and looked shocked. "Sir, I recommend you go back to the house where we can protect you."

"You mean to say that I won't be protected in a police station where there are lots of policemen?" John's eyebrows lifted in expectation of backchat.

"Sorry, sir. To the station." The army doctor couldn't help but admit that he felt a little smug at what he'd just achieved. He almost expected a salute.

The twenty-five minute journey felt more light twenty-five hours to John as he thought over what he would say and do when he got to Sherlock. Would he talk to him, hug him, kiss him or punch him… who knew? All he did know was that they were going to talk and get their feelings about each other clear and in the open.

At long last, the car pulled up outside the police station. John flung the door open and jumped out, sprinting to the doors. He passed an officer on his way that quickly recognised John and caught his attention.

"Sir, are you looking for Sherlock?" The officer's eyebrows knitted.

"Yeah, do you know where he is? He said he'd be here." John looked expectant of an answer.

"D.I. Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan have followed him to a hostage's house. I don't know which one but if you ring D.I. Lestrade I'm sure he'd be more than happy to tell you. Mind you, this is Sherlock he's dealing with so I may need to withdraw my last comment."

"Okay, cheers." John turned back around and jumped into a cab, ringing Lestrade as he did so.

Twenty minutes later, he was walking up to a house where the door was wide open and Lestrade and Donovan were attempting to haul a struggling, and succeeding, Sherlock out of the front door.

"Sherlock, what the hell? What are you doing?" He rushed over to his flatmates side and batted the two police officers away. "I know he can be a dick but is this really necessary?" John raised his eyebrows. Eventually he ignored them and looked down at Sherlock. "I've been chasing around London looking for you. We need to talk."

"Someone's in the dog house." Donovan chipped in.

"I'm not angry, just a little confused. I'm too happy to be angry." John seemed nervous, out of breath and overall confused.

Sherlock grasped John's arm and scurried to the pavement. "Are you okay? You seem… high."

John frowned a little. "I suppose that's a reasonable assumption, but no, I'm not. I'm very aware of what I'm doing and I have not had any drugs or alcohol."

"Right… okay. As long as we have that cleared up. What are you doing here?"

John breathed out deeply, preparing himself for what he was about to say. He looked deeply into Sherlock's eyes, getting lost in the deepness of his naivety to emotions and just reality in general. John froze and, in reaction to this, so did Sherlock.

John opened his mouth but for a moment nothing came out. He cleared his throat gently and tried again. "Sherlock, since the day I met you, you've fascinated me and left me gaping in awe. I admire you for the way you don't take notice of what people say about you and I take great pleasure in watching you do what you do best. That's why…" His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as if to bring the taller man's face into zoom like a camera. "I love you… and have done since I met you."

Sherlock stared back at his flatmate, his jaw hanging slightly in amazement. He moved towards John as if to embrace him. His mouth ended up next to John's ear as he whispered. "You've no idea how long I've been waiting for you to tell me that."


	8. Chapter 8

**I believe I have a apology to make. It's taking me a while to update at the moment but there is an easy way for you guys to help. The more you review, the more motivated I will be to update faster. I have the Easter holidays starting on Friday so hopefully I won't do what I did last time and not update for twenty days.**

**Please review and thank you to all those who have favourited this fic. I've spoken with some of you and you're amazing! I love all recognition!**

**I need to apologise to Gigi for being annoying with this story. I've made so many promises and broken them by procrastinating so this one is genuine! I PROMISE that it will get going with Sherlock and John in the next couple of chapters!**

**Ramble over...**

**On with the story.**

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Donovan leaned forward to whisper to Lestrade. "What the hell is happening?"

Lestrade snapped himself out of a trance-like state and said "I believe you owe me a tenner - that's what just happened." Lestrade had a smug smile as he looked back at John and Sherlock before swinging his head back to Anderson. "You, too! Both of you made the bet."

Anderson shot a look of shock at Lestrade. "You mean they've... oh, God, we're never going to hear the end of this. They're just going to..." Lestrade cut Anderson off.

"Will you two just kiss already...?" He shouted out.

Both Sherlock and John glared at the D.I. then back at each other. Sherlock could feel John's warm breath on his neck which meant the cool breeze caused a shiver to run down his spine. His eyes narrowed and he searched for eye contact but John was looking to the floor. "Shall we head back to the flat?" The taller of the two men raised his eyebrows suggestively.

John's head snapped up and a smile broke through. "I'm not supposed to be there. It's not safe for me, hence the safe house."

"John, the safe house is simply a precaution." His mouth closed softly and his face portrayed deep consideration. He tilted his head downwards vaguely and whispered in John's ear. "You'll be safe with me."

A cheeky smile slid across John's face. "You're place or mine?"

Sherlock's usually cool exterior suddenly broke into a throaty laugh. His eyes closed and he shook is head in acknowledgment of the joke. "Let's g…"

"Yeah." They looked at each other as they walked towards the road, giggling as they went.

Within fifteen minutes, they were rushing through central London in the back of a cab, only five minutes away from the flat. Anticipation was running high. Sherlock stared at John with interest as he looked out of the window, taking the passers by and the busy life of London in through his big, grey eyes as if he was a four-year-old, entering the city for the first time.

Suddenly, everything went into slow motion. John's head twisted to look at Sherlock at high speed and he had worry plastered all over his face. His eyes were wide as his body jolted and flew towards Sherlock who was also thrown against his side of the cab.

The headlights of a heavy goods vehicle were protruding through the body of the car. John fell into the foot-well of the back seats and Sherlock lost sight of him. Quickly, everything blurred and he lost all knowledge of where he was and what was going on.

Sherlock awoke a while later to find his lower leg was in immense pain. Everything was still quite blurry and sounds echoed into one mass of noise. He just about managed t make out that there were sirens and people calling out in both pain and in search. He pulled at his leg to try and gain some freedom but his efforts were useless. After a few minutes of strenuous thought, he remembered where he was and that his last memory was of John being flung in all directions. Mainly downwards.

Finally he could see what must have been a torch shining through gaps in the wreckage. He felt a hand reach through a hole and onto his shoulder.

"I've found someone! Over here!" Sherlock could tell it was a man's voice but apart from that: nothing. He was too focused on John. Where he was and what sort of a state his was in. That perfect man was lost in this… mess.

They had only just confessed their feelings, they couldn't lose each other now.

A fireman helped him free his leg and dragged him away from the crushed vehicle.

Sherlock tried to protest about being removed from the scene but instead, all that could be heard was "nuuu… inn… please… jnnnn"

Sherlock gave up his resistance when he turned his head to the side and saw John being hauled out of a smashed-up vehicle. His body was limp and distorted. The firemen rushed around to get him onto a gurney and into an ambulance.

Sherlock retrieved some of his ability to walk and clambered to his feet. He made his way to the ambulance shouting out. "John!" As expected, no response. "JOHN!" Still no response. Again, his efforts were useless as he started to fall to the floor, losing consciousness.

Sherlock awoke a couple of hours later in a bright, white room. He was in a bed that was surrounded by other beds which held other A and E patients. He was checked out within half an hour once the doctors were positive he wasn't concussed. He searched the hospital to try and find John, constantly asking doctors and nurses but none of them knowing. He collapsed to the floor and remained there for the next hour.

Just when Sherlock thought his day couldn't get any worse, Mycroft came waltzing down the corridor.

"What do you want, Mycroft?"

The older of the two brothers stopped in his tracks and stared at Sherlock with raised eyebrows.

"Well, I was going to tell you where John is but if you'd rather I didn't, then I'll be on my way."

"Mycroft, take me to him!" Sherlock got to his face and stepped closer to his brother.

"I don't understand why I should; you just take it for granted."

"I've been running around this damned hospital for hours looking for John and I'll be damned if I let you get in my way now."

Mycroft lifted his head and looked down his nose at his younger, obviously considering his response in much detail. "One hundred metres behind me and it's the room on your right."

Sherlock gazed at him for a moment before remembering why he had been given the directions. While running down the corridor, he thought about the fact that he had been so close to John for a whole hour but he had nearly given up as if he was so close yet so far.

He ran round the corner and through the door to his room and nearly tripped over trying to stop in his tracks. The sight of John unconscious on the bed with his left leg and right arm in a cast made Sherlock's heart wrench. The only thing keeping him sane being the constant beet of the BPR machine.

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**Don't forget to review. :) I'm thinking of writing another fic as well as this one. What do you guys think?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Okay, so I forgot to put a note so here's a slightly edited version... sorry!**

**I really appreciate reviews guys, and it would seem they're not coming as thick and fast as I'd hoped. Please? Don't make me beg!**

**I've no idea where this is going anymore so I might round it off after a few more chapters, but I will get some JohnLock in before I finish. Is there anything you guys want me to add in? At all? Anything?**

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After two days of sitting next to John's hospital bed, only getting up to go to the bathroom, Sherlock was getting restless and anxious. Would he ever wake up? If he does wake up, will there be any…damage? Brain damage? All of these thoughts and thoughts alike were swirling around Sherlock's head. He had to force himself to think of something else otherwise he would think himself into depression.

Lestrade appeared at the door but didn't enter. He simply watched, unnoticed, while Sherlock grabbed John's hand and laid his head on it, willing him to wake up. Lestrade, in all of his years of knowing Sherlock, had never seen him care for anyone like this.

He nudged the door open with his shoulder as he aimed his sight at John but walked towards Sherlock who was sitting on the other side of the bed.

Sherlock's head shifted slowly from side to side. He picked it up resentfully, looking to Lestrade as though he had the weight of the world pushing it back down.

"How's he doing?"

Sherlock's head jerked back in disgust. "How do you think he's doing? His eyes have been shut for forty-eight hours and he is showing no signs of waking up. Two of his limbs are locked in casts and he has grazes everywhere. Ask me again. I dare you… to ASK… ME… AGAIN!" His lips were trembling and his eyes were threatening to let tears roll down his cheeks. Quickly, he returned his focus to John.

_I wonder if Sherlock knows I can hear him. It feels like such a task to open my eyes. If only I could see his face again, I would have enough energy to sprint across London. Come on, John, you can do this. Just… open you eyes. Useless!_

_Sherlock sounds pretty cut up about this. What was the last thing that happened? Well, I remember going to a house and finding Sherlock being dragged out by Anderson, Donovan and Lestrade. Then… and then Sherlock and I talked. But, what about? Damn it, John, THINK!_

"Lestrade, I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that." Sherlock's gaze fell to John's chest, watching it move steadily up and down.

"I understand. It can't be easy."

"You say you understand, but you don't. For the first time in my life, I love someone and now he's close to death, fighting for his life. Honestly, has this ever happened to you?"

Lestrade's face filled with regret as he wondered why he bothered. "No. I'll leave you two alone."

His timing could not have been better as John's eyelids strained upwards to reveal his big, brown eyes. He panted as he spoke slowly, barely comprehendible. "He's just being nice." A chuckle started in his belly but stopped suddenly and was overtaken by a groan as it reached his ribs.

Sherlock's head snapped from the door to John. "I was worried about you." He frowned vaguely. "I…thought you weren't going to wake up. How much of that did you hear?"

John observed Sherlock, his hair dishevelled and his eyes frantic. "From when Lestrade came in." He forced another chuckle through his body.

John had to stay in hospital for another forty-eight hours before e could go home. Mycroft and all of the nurses and doctors in the hospital had tried to insist on him staying for another few days but, Sherlock being Sherlock, he protested like a four-year-old, adamant that his care was the best on offer, however most did not agree.

A few hours after his tantrum, Sherlock wheeled John through the door of 221B and helped him onto the sofa.

"Are you okay? Tea? Coffee?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows and scanned the room for anything that John may want.

"No, I'm fine thanks. Although, I could use my laptop. The blog needs updating."

Sherlock sprang into action, burrowing on the desk for both laptops. Quickly, he came across John's and handed it to him. "What exactly are you going to update? You've been in hospital for four days." Sherlock slumped into his chair opposite John firing up his own laptop.

John looked away from his laptop in thought. "I suppose nothing, then. I'll just sit here and do… nothing until I can walk again." He looked around the room with a fake bored expression on his face.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Chess?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said 'Chess?'. I played it in my youth. Mostly with myself, but I played. Do you know how?" Sherlock continued to stare at John for a moment rather innocently.

John was surprised by the offer. "You played on your own? Why?"

"Does it matter? Do you know how to play chess?"

"Yeah, kind of. Can you remind me?"

This idea was intriguing to Sherlock. Maybe there was an experiment screaming to get out. No. Now's not the time. "Sure." The corners of Sherlock's mouth rose slightly as he lifted himself out of his chair and headed for his bedroom.

John stayed where he was as moving would require a lot of effort. He observed Sherlock as he walked away from him. It wasn't like him to put all his efforts into occupying John. Was he changing? If so: why?

Sherlock returned a moment later with a small, foot-long chest. It was covered in dust which he blew off then wiped with care. His eyes scanned the front of it as he undid the clasp and opened the lid.

Half an hour passed as Sherlock explained the rules to John and they played a fake game so he could get back into the swing of it. For once, it was a comfortable half hour in the flat. No running around, no experimenting and no shouting.

"John?" Sherlock didn't look up as he addressed his flat mate.

"Yeah?" John, however, lifted his gaze to look at Sherlock.

"What's the last thing you remember before the crash?" He kept his head looking at the board as he moved his queen across the board to take John's bishop.

"Umm… I remember Lestrade dragging you out of the door and then you and I talked, but I don't remember what about. I'm assuming that, whatever it was, it cause us to get into the cab which we crashed in. Apart from that, it's blank."

Sherlock froze as he processed what John had just said. It had taken months for them to admit their feelings for each other and now they will have to do it all over again. More importantly, will John still have the same feelings for Sherlock?

These thoughts continued to spin around Sherlock's head for the remainder of the evening. They watched a film, ordered Chinese and played another game of chess.

Sherlock paid close attention to John that night and vowed to until he was walking again. He wanted to observe every little thing about John until he was agile enough to notice.

Throughout the evening, John replayed what he heard Sherlock say in the hospital when he thought he was asleep. "For the first time in my life, I love someone" This made John smile every time he thought about it. Now, how was he going to respond?

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Don't forget to review!


	10. Chapter 10

**This chapter is finally getting through the nitty gritty so hopefully the next one will be a "Finally!" or a "Thank God for that!" sort of chapter.**

**Thanks for the reviews guys! Keep them coming! They help me decide which direction each chapter is going to go in.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Sherlock.**

**Don't forget to review! :)**

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The next six weeks passed by very slowly for both John and Sherlock. John was confined to the flat and Sherlock didn't leave his side. This, however, was the catalyst for many expressions including the favourite. "Bored!"

John was finally out of his casts but was advised to take it easy. In a way that Sherlock could understand: no crime scenes.

John, like Sherlock, was getting fed up of the flat and wanted to venture into London again. However, he stuck to his new routine. He woke up at 9a.m and had a full body wash. He then continued on to the kitchen to find some breakfast with the help of Sherlock as reaching the cereal when it's been put on top of the cabinet is not an easy task from a wheelchair. Then he would sit in the living room for most of the day with the occasional visit from Mrs Hudson or Lestrade and sometimes Mycroft, but that was rare.

John and Sherlock often found themselves playing chess as it gave Sherlock something to think about, although it didn't take long for him to figure out John's future moves and how to beat him before he had made those moves. It also gave John a chance to talk to Sherlock without him running away. To help John's case, Sherlock seemed more open in these conversations than he had ever been.

"So, where did you grow up?" John moved his gaze from the chess board back to Sherlock.

"Just outside of London. My family owns a large estate. And you?" Sherlock returned the gesture of eye contact.

"Near Cornwall. A small village. Nothing really happened so I got bored. That's why I joined the army. It was my ticket out of a slow life with slow people. Over half of the residents were over seventy. My parents thought it best that Harry and I grew up there as it was safe and quiet. We disagreed." John made his next move, just as Sherlock expected, so he countered it by taking his rook. A small, sly smile crept into the corners of his lips which John caught a glimpse of before Sherlock realised that he was physically celebrating his small victory.

"Do your parents still live there?"

"It's my turn to ask a question!" He paused for a moment before asking. "Do you ever go back?"

Sherlock looked towards the window then back at John. "I avoid it when I can, but sometimes Mycroft doesn't exactly give me a choice."

"How do you mean?"

"As you so gracefully put it. "It's my turn to ask a question!""

John smirked and shuffled in his seat to make himself more comfortable.

"What's your biggest achievement in life?" Sherlock focused in on John slightly more now.

The doctor moved his concentration from the board to his flatmate to look straight in his eyes. "Well… I guess university. I don't really have much else to show for my life right now. And you?"

Sherlock felt guilty by this. Was he the reason John hadn't gone on to do better things with himself. Was he holding him back? "Moving out of the family home and getting this life for myself, I suppose. I, also, don't have an awful lot to show for myself."

John looked to the floor, tension rising in the room. Sherlock chirped up to ask the next question. "What's your biggest regret?"

John thought for a moment. Why did Sherlock want to know? It would just make him seem like a failure, no matter what he said.

"I would have loved to have a family of my own by now. A wi…" Sherlock looked up at him, with a sense of disappointment in his eyes. "… a partner… and a child. I always wanted a son." A forced smile washed over John's face as he looked to the floor, fiddling with the sleeve of his jumper. "I guess that's all a little unlikely now. I'm not exactly in the prime of life anymore and all attempts at dating aren't exactly going well. Anyway, what's your biggest regret?"

The two men stared into each other's eyes for a long moment before Sherlock stoop up and headed for the door.

"Sherlock, where are you going? What's wrong?"

He paused in the doorway of the living room. "I'm going to bed."

"At least answer my question." John looked up at him with hope.

Sherlock sighed and opened his mouth to answer. "My biggest regret in life?" It sounded to John as though there was a slight bitterness to his voice now. "My biggest regret is that I walked out of that safe house all those weeks ago…"John's jaw dropped slightly. "…and I…" Sherlock clamped his eyes closed attempting to force himself to continue.

"Okay, Sherlock you're worrying me now. What did you do?"

He breathed in deeply and steadied himself. "Why do you want to know?"

John stood up to move closer to the tall man. He leaned on cabinets and any empty surface for balance. "I want to know you. And not just what your favourite pass-time is, but what is actually going on in your head. On the day you showed me the flat, Donovan tried to warm me against spending time with you and told me that you're a freak, but I didn't want to have secondary information. I wanted to make my own judgement of you, and so far, I like what I see.

"I want to know what makes you tick and what makes you feel sad. What your favourite type of tea is." This made both men smirk. "And because I love you. More than I have done any other person in my life… and I never want to be away from you."

Sherlock stared into John's eyes as his body filled with adoration for him. Just when he thought he couldn't love John any more, he went and said that.

He dropped his head down to John's and found his lips just millimeters from John's. He hesitated for a moment, but forgot about all of his inhibitions and slotted them together.

Both of them had silently waited for this for months. Sherlock's hand twisted behind John's neck while John placed his hands on Sherlock's waist to balance himself. Before they knew it, it was over.

Sherlock rested their foreheads together. John grinned from ear to ear but Sherlock sighed and his face portrayed total dismay. "My biggest regret in life… is that I had sex with Anderson in the alley next to the station just after I left you in the safe house that day.

Sherlock pulled away from a stunned John. He left through the door and disappeared to his bedroom.

John remained standing where he was for several minutes before he had to sit down in fear of stumbling to the floor.

He had to process what Sherlock had said a number of times before he fully understood what had just happened. He walked through the time scale of that day to figure out the timings and when it happened.

Why did Sherlock tell him? Why did he have to spoil things? Would Anderson have told him if Sherlock didn't? Is that why Sherlock never went to the station while John couldn't?

All of these questions circled John's head as he sat in his armchair all night. There was no way he was going to be able to get to sleep now.

Would he stick around and try and put it behind him or would he confront Anderson or would he disappear before Sherlock came back out of his room?


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm so sorry that it took me (I think) 5 1/2 weeks to update. To make up for it, this is about double the length of the other chapters.**

** I will try my best to update faster next time but my exams start in a few days so no promises.**

**Thank you for being so patient. Especially Gigi and Georgia who have been bugging me for a while now.**

**Thanks to Amy for being my beta. This is my first sex scene EVERRRR (I just made a a grammar mistake on purpose!?) so any advice is greatly appreciated.**

**Finally, I edited this chapter as friend explained to me what you guys were saying about how it repeats itself so I sorted that. Sorry for the (not very) subtle hints that I didn't understand. Thanks for the patience.**

**Much love.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Sherlock.**

* * *

John spent the whole night sitting in his armchair, milling over his options. Deciding whether to leave or whether to stay. Whether he should battle it out with Sherlock or whether he should stay calm.

John decided that after being awake for just over twenty-four hours, he didn't have it in him to fight with Sherlock.

John had to reason with himself and empathise with Sherlock. Nothing had actually happened between him and Sherlock when he… did it. However, something nearly happened and God knows John wanted it to. Sherlock must have known that John wanted it to happen. How could he miss it? They were practically naked and in bed together. If that's not a signal then what is?

John remained in his chair until midday when Sherlock surfaced from his room. The tall figure flashed by the living room door for a moment and was gone as quickly as it came. Within moments it returned and Sherlock was leaning against the door frame.

"Have you been here all night?"

John reluctantly lifted his head enough to gain eye contact with Sherlock. "Yeah." This came out rather dismissively and Sherlock picked up on this.

He wasn't sure what to say to John after the previous night's revelation. He cautiously made his way over to John's chair and stood in front of him looking down being careful to not look patronising.

"I don't expect you to forgive me, I don't imagine you'll talk to me and I don't foresee you hanging around." There wasn't a single trace of emotion in his voice. John would expect a tone of embarrassment or discomposure from any normal person, but this was Sherlock Holmes and he copes with situations by ignoring all feelings. "I wouldn't be surprised if you packed a bag right now and I certainly wouldn't blame you."

That's when he made his mistake. He looked to the floor to avoid eye contact. Sherlock Holmes being the man that loves eye contact - thrives off it. He practically invented the staring competition just so he could win. Not only was he avoiding eye contact but he was also avoiding a show of emotion. He did feel something.

John made the most of this and clung to it with both hands. Sherlock was ashamed of himself - who wouldn't be?

John got to his feet and traipsed over to Sherlock. As he got closer, he picked up pace and before he knew it, he had embraced the taller man.

Sherlock had closed his eyes, expecting John to erupt with anger but instead was being hugged. This had caught him off-guard. Not only had he expected anger but he had prepared himself to be punched in the face.

He opened his eyes to look into John's for clarification of what was going on but when John didn't look up, he just hugged him back. After a minute or so John pulled back and looked up at Sherlock who looked back into his eyes. Now was the time to make his final decision. Walk away or stay?

John lifted himself onto his tip toes and reached his head up closer to Sherlock's, bringing their lips closer. When they were nearly touching, he hesitated momentarily but this was his chance so he seized it.

John surged forwards and planted his lips on Sherlock's. He wobbled slightly on his tiptoes but steadied himself by gripping the taller man's waist. His right hand ventured up and behind Sherlock's neck to pull his head further into the kiss. Sherlock had gone completely stiff at the gesture but kissed back anyway. His whole body relaxed as he leaned into the kiss, tentatively moving his own hands down John's back and gently gripping his waist.

After a moment, he pulled away, stared into John's eyes and made for the door. He slid his coat off its hook as slotted his right arm in but was prevented from continuing when John pulled it back off and returned it to its hook.

John leaned against Sherlock whose back was against the wall. He pinned Sherlock's hands above his head and would keep them there regardless of Sherlock's attempts to free them. As the old saying goes: "If you can't beat them, join them." So Sherlock linked his fingers with John's and crashed their lips together once again.

After, what seemed like, forever, John felt Sherlock's lips adventure down his neck. His head dropped back and he closed his eyes in pleasure as he pushed his lower body further into Sherlock's. In the heat of the moment, John forgot about trying to hold Sherlock's hands above their heads and released them. Sherlock took this opportunity and leant down.

John pulled his head away to search for an explanation as to what was happening but before he could open his mouth, Sherlock had his arms under John's back and knees and lifted him into his hold. John giggled and wrapped his arm around Sherlock's neck and pulled himself up so they didn't have to part lips for longer than was necessary.

On his way up the stairs, Sherlock managed to trip over almost everything and narrowly avoided dropping John. He tightened his grip and pulled John closer to his chest so John kissed and sucked his neck, causing Sherlock to moan in anticipation. This did mean, however, that Sherlock could look up and find his way to the bedroom faster.

As he reached the bed, his knees hit the mattress and he dropped John and fell on top of him. Sherlock paused where he was, holding himself up over John's body. He stared into John's eyes in awe, observing the swirls of brown and the pulses of amber, surrounded by pure white and injections of red: the most satisfying feature being the dilated pupils in the middle.

Before John could reach up to him, Sherlock dropped his upper body down and kissed his neck. John's fingers quickly found their way to the buttons of Sherlock's shirt, undoing them with ease.

Sherlock stood up and shrugged it off, giving John a chance to wriggle further onto the bed. Sherlock soon followed him and ended up lying over him, pulling at his jumper, revealing his bare chest. Sherlock shimmied down John's smaller body and kissed at it as he went, his curls falling down to his forehead.

John couldn't help but arch his back as Sherlock continued to tantalise him, drifting his lips down his chest and further until he reached John's belt. He looked through his eye lashes to John, hoping, praying that he wouldn't see any regret in his eyes. As his wish was fulfilled, he returned to undoing the dark brown leather belt and unbuttoning the jeans.

In one swift movement, Sherlock managed to unzip and pull off John's trousers, leaving him quite compromised. The removal of his jeans revealed something Sherlock was not expecting at all. Looking back at his somewhat shocked face were bright red pants. Sherlock smirked and looked at John with raised eyebrows. All John could do, however, was giggle and blush with embarrassment.

Sherlock returned to his earlier position, getting closer to John's crotch. He slipped the bright red pants down his legs and smiled teasingly at John as he did so.

"Sherlock… please… take me." This was all John could manage to say.

In response, Sherlock simply said "Happily"

He got between John's legs and dropped his head down to his member, drifting his lips over the top of it.

"Please… Sherlock…" John went no further as Sherlock pressed his head down onto John's member. He took him all the way into his mouth and to the back of his throat, starting slowly but getting faster.

John arched his back from the bed and moaned in pleasure. Due to the reaction, Sherlock continued with this for a few minutes, but stopped abruptly. He whipped off his belt and slid it out of the loops. His trousers then proceeded to practically drop off, leaving him in just his underwear and an undone shirt.

He crawled up the bed to John who was nearly unconscious with pleasure, kissing his way up his chest.

"Sherlock?"

He waited for a moment before responding, knowing it would frustrate him. "Yes, John?"

John lifted Sherlock's head so they had eye contact.

"Just do it!" John begged, hoping for compliance.

Sherlock leaned over to the bedside table and grabbed the tube of lube. He coated his fingers clumsily and slipped his first finger in. This made John moan even louder than before which put a smile on both of their faces. Suddenly there were two fingers, then three.

Once Sherlock was satisfied that he had prepared John, he placed himself accordingly and gently thrust into him.

After mere seconds John winced which caused Sherlock to pause exactly where he was and snap his head to the smaller mans face. "Are you okay, John?" Sherlock said with a worried face.

"I'll be fine in a moment, keep going!"

Sherlock didn't need to be told twice, so continued, noticing that John's hole widened as he carried on. As his thrusts became stronger and faster, John's moans got louder and more fulfilling to Sherlock.

"Keep… keep going! Faster!" John insisted, however this was difficult as Sherlock was already sweating over the sheets. Nonetheless, he obeyed.

He sped up and persisted, forcing his whole body against John's, feeling the connection grow between them as they, for a brief moment, shared their bodies with each other. A connection that Sherlock was unaccustomed to but grasped with both hands and didn't plan on letting go.

He was nearing his climax and, by the sound of John's moans and the look of his hands clenching the bed sheets, he was too. He bit John's ear which resulted in John spilling onto both of their chests.

John's eyes opened and he stared at Sherlock, who still had his eyes closed. He couldn't help but chuckle at him.

"John, I… I…" And with that, he came within John, putting a stop to his giggles and turning them into a satisfied groan.

Both men collapsed onto the bed panting slightly. They tilted their heads inwardly to look at each other and smiled tenderly. John reached his hand up and curled it in Sherlock's hair. Sherlock closed his eyes and revelled in the gentle movement. That was the moment that it hit Sherlock. The question he needs to ask himself: Does he want this forever?

John was able to relax while twisting his fingers through Sherlock's hair. It was nearly therapeutic. It confirmed for him that Sherlock was really there - that this wasn't a dream that felt too real. But this had just happened. They had really slept together and no one and nothing could say otherwise. But the one thing John needed to think about was: would he regret it and want to go back?


End file.
